


resonance (of one's song)

by Wino



Series: The Darcy fix no one asked for [13]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: A lot of unneeded signing, AU - Rare language speaker, F/F, Fluff, From Thor to Post Avengers, Happy Ending, Help, Natasha Needs a Hug, Some Fluff, The Author Regrets Nothing, Trying to make sense of canon, a lot of pointless worldbuilding, but failing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 14:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12750561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wino/pseuds/Wino
Summary: The satisfying part about speaking her language, Darcy knew, was that no one could understand it.Why hide it when you can insult people to their face?The entirely unneeded AU where the prompt was clearly going one way, but it was flipped halfway there and suddenly we're all very confused.





	resonance (of one's song)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloomingsoftly (bloomsoftly)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomsoftly/gifts), [Dresupi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/gifts), [Queenspuppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenspuppet/gifts).



> This is the actual proof, that Wino just can't play by the rules and does whatever brain tells her to do.  
> The prompt given was "No no no please stop, your accents are wrong and you're asking me to carry your bab- Oh. Wait. Do go on."  
> It opened to one clear possibility, given the pairing. Of course, Wino went and noped, and so here. AU with rare language speaker.  
> The word limit I had was 6k. So, of course, here, 11k of words just because.
> 
> This work is dedicated to (follows with Fic Recs because YES, you're WELCOME):  
> *[Bloomsoftly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomsoftly/works), the most amazing beta in the universe who believes in me all the time. Here's two recs of her splendidous works: ["take your time (in a hurry)"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11912457) and ["(trade your) broken wings"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9859376). I'm sorry your story is long coming, but it's coming, I promise!  
> *[dresupi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/pseuds/Dresupi/works), who's so so patient with me and is one of the sweetest. Here's two fic recs, in case you didn't know her already: ["No strings to bind your hands"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8501581) and ["I'm Game"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247272)  
> *[Queenspuppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenspuppet/pseuds/Queenspuppet/works), one of the kindest souls that always always always encourages me. Here's two recs of her, because she's amazing: ["Command the Moon, It will come Down"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11450877) and ["Sleeper"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5235068)
> 
> This work would have been pointless without the help of:  
> \- [Hollyspacey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollyspacey/pseuds/Hollyspacey)  
> \- [IvyH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyH)  
> \- [acaseofthemondays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaseofthemondays)  
> \- [aunbrey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aunbrey)  
> Who helped me throughout the whole experience, who supported and were as amazing as possible and patient with me. So. Much. Patience.  
> Thank you so much.
> 
>  
> 
> **In the end, there's a slew of notes about the fiction at the bottom of the page, which I'd love for you to read.  
> **  
>  Thank you so much for being here, and I hope you enjoy! <3

If there was something satisfying in the use of Volano, it was the way it slid over your tongue and clacked over your teeth, as if you were spitting an insult, even if the words were just a polite questioning of 'what's the weather like today?'. Helped set the tone for the day, that is.

Folks squeaked and freaked out whenever you threw such a clipped language at them, especially if combined with the very eloquent signing the language required, for propriety (and the fact that friend, enemy and lover shared a basically identical sign was hilarious.).

Made also a great conversation starter.

Not that there was much to say.

Volano was born out of a madman's ambition to talk to birds. Spoiler, it didn't work. What did work, however, was the new language born out of said madman's rambling. If you could consider it new, of course, having been created somewhere between the 16th century or so.

Well, all said and done, Volano was born, and as far as Darcy knew, only around three hundred persons in the world could speak it, and even less could write it. Fluency was rarer, and people who had it for native language even less.

Which made it the perfect media for Jane's precious data.

Darcy's muscles popped pleasantly as she stretched on the chair she was perched on.

Her wrist ached dully because of the repetitive motions, and Darcy wondered for the sixth time in the last ten minutes if the ink thing could actually be bullshit. She supposed that ink was the 'go to' during 'ye olde times', but being forced to use ink in the 21st century, the age of computers, because using another medium could lose the magic of the language did seem excessive.

Did she really want to risk it and let bosslady's work in the open, though? Darcy frowned, and then dipped the nib once again. _Nah._

Compared to the spoken tongue, which was harsh, clipped and probably strained the vocal cords of someone who didn't grow into it something awful (no more singing for you, if you tried it at home), the written form of Volano was round, flowery and seemed a code straight out of a Tolkien novel. It was extremely pleasant to look at, and always gave Darcy the greatest satisfaction.

Take that, calligraphy classes. She so got this.

She peered over her desk, lowering her reading glasses just enough to surreptitiously spy on Janey as she flailed over one of her machines.

Apparently, they had gotten another splendid amount of reading and she couldn't wait to be on the road again.

Darcy hoped she could wait until this batch of data was copied; it wouldn't do to leave some of it unattended (and _un-burned_. But yeah, she wasn't going to tell Jane she systematically destroyed all kind of evidence and then copied it in such a way no one but ten people in the world could get at it. Bosslady said to keep it safe? This was safe. Safest, indeed.).

“Are you ready, Darcy?” Jane huffed impatiently from in front of her.

Darcy almost jumped and the ink wobbled precariously on her desk. Fortunately, no ink blot strayed on her precious paper. “Jees- Bosslady!” She cursed. “We talked about this, right? No scaring the intern when she's collating, yes? Do I need to put it in my contract or something?” Ink blot equal scratch and start again. And she'd copied 40 pages of the thing already. She was _not_ starting again on this.

“Sorry!” Jane said hastily, her face a bit remorseful, “I'm just so excited, we're finally getting somewhere, I feel it, it's time!” She then noticed that her intern's interest wasn't as palpable as hers. “...Are you listening, Darcy?”

“Sure am, Bosslady, yay yay!” Darcy replied. “Now just let me copy this thing and then I'll get the van, yes?”

“Sure, yes, great. I'll leave you to your Klingon!” Jane seized the opening, appeased, and started to pack.

Darcy gaped, indignant “Klin- Wha-” She sputtered. “You know what, yeah sure, Klingon, who cares. “

She lowered her eyes on the paper. In the last indignant squeaking, an ink blot had decided to spawn from her nib and deposit itself neatly on the last word.

Her insults and screeching were heard from the entirety of Puente Antiguo, but no one thought the sounds could be human, at all.

* * *

 

Darcy had grown used to take all the small victories she could in every part of her life.

When she was six, her mother had decided she was better off without her family. Nana taught her the family secret as a compensation.

Nana's journals were illegible; she taught herself written Volano straight from the source.

Her father was usually absentee, she loved independence.

Culver wanted her to take science classes? She could so graduate without taking a single math course, oh yes.

And so, when a drunk man was found in the desert, she tasered him and then dragged him to hospital, and then the suits came and grabbed every ounce of Jane's research, Darcy was secretly very, very proud of having hidden all of the nice data behind a flowery language in a red leather book that looked exactly like her secret diary. Because when the Men in Black looked at it, she just had to screech a bit about her personal calligraphy book for stupid grunt number one to drop it like a hot potato.

Of course, had it been Agent Coulson to check their private lodgings instead of the simple lackey things would have been very different, but Jane was still stirring up a storm and he needed her to cooperate to do his job, or at least in part.

So, in the end, Darcy was very happy with how things turned out.

It didn't stop her from copying the whole thing on another diary and write stupid inconsequential shit on another red leather-bound book she had, just in case they came back and had someone who could actually read Volano for them.

It just wouldn't do.

* * *

 

Turns out? Thor was something straight out of a fairytale she had missed and didn't even know it.

She hadn't noticed on their first meeting, adrenaline was running high and Jane was not focusing on the angry drunk man and of course Selvig was just like his pupil, but once her spirits had calmed and she'd met Thor a second time, her eyeballs could have popped out of her sockets and she wouldn't have noticed.

Because he was speaking Volano at her, and a decent one at that, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd heard it live and it was fucking amazing.

Jane insisted and swore up and down that his Allspeak sounded like English to her, but she didn't care. Thor became her best conversation partner after that.

She could freely speak, sometimes swear colorfully, and with imagery Jane and Erik couldn't even imagine and Thor would just understand, and laugh at it with her, and comment on it with the same sarcasm and it was this side of awesome.

She didn't even care the suits were listening in, it was that liberating to finally be able to speak without having to translate the whole shebang in her head.

So she started to gesticulate, something she hadn't done in a long time, and to speak very loudly whenever he was within hearing distance, just to watch him get her jokes and guffaw with her.

Jane watched them like they were some kind of prized animal.

“I just don't understand any of it, Darcy!” Complained Jane once they were alone, Thor having spirited Erik away to go... somewhere. Who knew. “I mean, you did tell me you were not a native English speaker, but I... how do you even produce this kind of sounds? Do they even have a meaning? I mean, of course they do, but I saw you do the same sign at least three times on the same sentence with different sounds and intonations and I... seriously, I thought Chinese was the hardest you could find, but this is... It's like you have this secret language club. Is there even a way to learn it?”

Darcy grimaced. “Now, I don't know how hard Chinese is, but I seriously discourage you to learn this thing.” She shushed Jane's sounds of protest, “Or at least, sure, I can teach you the written language if you really want, but not to speak it. You need to start super early or your vocal cords will just snap. I swear, it's like we don't have vowels in this and half our sounds are composed of snaps, so it's a real strain. And the accents are everything.” She produced a low, guttural sound followed by a clacking sound, and then another similar sound followed by two clicks of her tongue. “First one means friendship, the second one means cabbage waste.” She shrugged. “Diplomacy was never our forte. We always ended up misunderstanding the outsiders.”

Jane wasn't discouraged though, and in the end, Darcy did agree to teach her the basics of Volano, if only to let her in the stupid jokes she and Thor had at the expense of the suits spying on them all the time.

It took two days to realize that Jane would in no way be able to speak Darcy's native language without destroying her voice-box (and as a scientist that wanted to change the world, the ability to actually speak would be needed at least until she reached Stephen Hawking's fame. Darcy wouldn't say 'I told you so'.) and that she had no patience whatsoever for the written part of the text ( _“The letters are all the same, all round and are those little leaves around the edges?!”_ ). Also, Thor was no help with his Allspeak. He could understand what Darcy was saying, but he had no way to teach it, because it didn't sound like Volano to him.

What she could do, however, was signing it with an incredible accuracy. Darcy was actually impressed with how fast Jane had taken to the signing- she knew her bosslady was smart, but Jane Foster was giving 'take it like a duck to water' a whole new meaning.

Darcy knew the pace at which the woman was learning was a credit to the woman's smarts, but she couldn't help but feel very proud when on the fourth day Jane started to pick up on their banter and actively tried to participate in it.

It was by no means perfect, and some of her movements were way too wide to mean anything but 'I'm going to eat this walnut whole' or something along these lines, but she was trying so hard and succeeding so fast Darcy would have thought she was a native signer all along.

Of course, by then the whispers of a Magical Hammer had reached Puente Antiguo and Darcy could say she had finally added to her forefathers’ work by coining a new word.

Three sharp taps and a long, upward whistling sound were now officially the way to address ‘Mewmew’ (Thor’s claims that the Hammer’s name was Mjolnir went unheeded).

A proper gesture would soon follow.

Thor left with Jane to look for Mewmew, and she was left with Erik to look after the base.

Call it paranoia, but Darcy spent the next few hours copying everything they had researched and achieved with Thor while pretending to take a bath and then proceeded to gleefully burn every single scrap of paper she found in their makeshift research facility under the watchful eyes of the Men in Black.

She tried not to cackle too hard at the sharp gasp that she heard from the nearby roof.

She failed. Maybe.

* * *

 

Agent Coulson looked at the makeshift fake documents they had created and Darcy knew in that moment that they were so busted.

He didn’t comment on it, though, and released a very heartbroken Thor in their custody. Care. Whatever.

Then, his head swivelled to Jane Foster.

“Are you sure you gave us everything, Dr Foster?” He asked, very politely.

_Crap._

Janey stared, nonplussed, and then got angry, her cheeks puffing out a bit. “You took everything from me! All of my life’s work!” She screamed indignantly. Suddenly the tiny astrophysicist was much more intimidating in her half-pint fury. “How dare you! You take all of my stuff, all of my equipment, all of _my notes_!”

_...Oh crap._

Coulson jumped on it straight away. “That is exactly my point. There are no notes in the boxes we got from you. Nothing. No diaries, papers, data, calculations. Nothing.”

Darcy could see the moment the words registered, slowly, in Jane’s brain.

She paled, gaped like a fish, almost aged twenty years right in front of them.

Then, her brain promptly discarded the idea and her eyes searched Coulson’s intently, because she couldn’t believe it. “...What?” She demanded, faintly.

Son of Coul had to be at least a bit taken aback by this, because he repeated slowly that while her walls had been covered in diagrams, pictures and notes, there was nothing else in what they’d _“borrowed”_ , and it just couldn’t be possible, unless she expected them to believe she’d gotten this far by winging it.

Jane’s eyes had now reached the ‘out of their sockets’ stage, her breathing had become erratic and her face was white as fresh snow at the prospect of having lost her life’s achievements and work.

Agent was now a smidge more uncomfortable, faced with a crying woman.

Darcy’s heart ached for her boss, but she was not going to blab the truth in front of the suits.

“Darcy!” _Oh no_. Jane’s doe-eyes landed on her. “You collated everything, top to bottom!”

Coulson was very interested, which meant his eyebrows ticked just a tiny bit. “Did you?”

And nope. Nope nope from Nopeville.

She pursed her lips and steadfastly ignored Erik’s choking sounds from outside the door.  

“I also have the strangest reports, Miss Lewis. See, someone affirmed to have seen you burn and destroy stacks of papers every day for the last two weeks. I am, of course, merely curious…”

Darcy felt the physical moment Jane’s heart broke. Like, tiny million pieces.

So she looked at her bosslady in the eye very pointedly, then looked back at Coulson, drew herself up and gesticulating wildly confirmed: “She said to keep it safe.”

“SO YOU BURNED IT ALL?!” Darcy turned. A woman with thick-rimmed glasses and a lab coat was practically foaming at the mouth, aghast. “You burned months of research no one will ever be able to replicate because of your naive ineptitude and stupidity? What could possibly have passed that tiny brain of yours to get to that conclusion?!”

“...Sorry?” Not sorry. And by the fact that Agent Agent was now sighing in his hands, he knew that their momentum was lost. _Not sorry, dude_.

She didn’t even care she was going to be SHIELD’s laughing stock forever, because when she looked back at Jane, her boss slash friend put both of her hands together to her hips and then to her right shoulder, as if to calm down from a terrible experience or relieve a persistent ache, but the message was unmistakable.  Got it, thank you _._

“...Is there anything else, Agent Coulson?” Jane sounded defeated, completely at loss, and everyone was just a bit thrown at the easiness the fierce woman was backing off.

The suits were all very understanding from then on, very sympathetic with the astrophysicist who’d lost everything in just a night because of a stupid intern.

Dr Foster had truly lost her life’s achievements with this poli-sci graduate. And so they released them, and sent them away with ‘Donald’.

The van left the SHIELD research facility in silence.

“...So you copied it all in your language and pretended it was your secret diary?”

“Yep. They got my iPod, no way they were getting my calligraphy books too.”

“So, no one else can read it?”

“You got it, boss lady.”

“...I’m going to call Culver. You’re getting your degree Summa Cum Laude.”

* * *

 

Thor left, and so did Agent Coulson and his suits.

If during his goodbyes his eyes had lingered a tad more on the poli-sci intern, no one made notice of it.

The lack of eyes and ears wherever they went was pleasant (Darcy didn’t believe for a second that SHIELD would let them just go, but Thor’s promise and threat managed to keep them far enough that they needn't be bothered.).

Unfortunately, Thor had opened old wounds Darcy hadn’t known existed.

She’d missed her culture fiercely, much more than she actually expected.

Talking to the Asgardian Prince had given her a piece of herself back; a piece that she now felt was gone with him.

For this reason, she tried something that was rarely done within ‘her people’, because there were so few of them. She sent out some feelers, to see if any Volano speakers were still around and most of all willing to make contact. She herself had ignored other people’s feelers in the past.

The results weren’t encouraging.

In fact, the only Native Speaker she found without probing on more conventional channels (and thus alerting SHIELD or other interested parties, now that the Rainbow Bridge was no longer quackery) was an older woman in London.

She sighed. As much as she wanted to reconnect with someone who understood, she didn’t want it bad enough to uproot herself and just cross the pond for a conversation.

She should have expected it.

She stirred the stew once more, and then gingerly took a sip.

“Lunchtime, bosslady!” She shouted.

Two rapid clicks answered her and she grinned.

Out of the whole language, the word “No” was the only one Jane could safely pronounce, use and abuse (mostly abuse).

“Yes, ma’am, you meant, right?”

The clicking increased in number.

“...Too bad!”

* * *

 

She’d done a lot of Clint-lugging, recently, Natasha mused. Should be an Olympic discipline, she’d win all the medals.

The ex-Russian-spy dragged her partner’s sorry ass into the getaway car, Fury and Maria speeding in front of them like bats out of hell in Hill’s vehicle.

When Fury had told them they’d found a mole, she didn’t expect the situation to be more along the lines of ‘well, no, actually everyone in SHIELD could be a mole because we’re secretly Hydra’.

Coulson had been right, God bless his soul.

When he and Clint had come back from New Mexico, Coulson had gone straight to Fury’s office to report on the most peculiar happenings.

If anybody asked her, she’d deny until her dying breath that she’d been in the vents with Barton to eavesdrop. Certain practises were beneath her (not really).

Apparently, the data Fury had wanted out of Jane Foster’s research had been destroyed by the well-meaning but misguided intern, who had burned the whole thing because she’d been told to ‘keep it safe’. And while Coulson didn’t really believe that, because Darcy Lewis was smart and shrewd and according to Clint he’d seen her color-code everything her bosslady did before promptly sealing it in folders _that then mysteriously vanished whenever she went to the toilet_ , it had enlightened a problem they didn’t know they had.

Dr Tandaro had been most put out they couldn’t get their hands on the Einstein-Rosen Bridge.

So much so, that even some of the Agents had begun questioning just why she’d been pressing so hard to get assigned to the mission in the first place.

Coulson had started to suspect mixed loyalties.

Fury had believed him.

Nine months later, after the fabric of the world had crumbled and a portal had opened in New York, after the unlikely team of disasters (Stark, it was Stark’s fault.) had eliminated the threat and a nuke (Stark, it was thanks to Stark), after they’d started back on their lives and Rogers had just dipped his toes in the organization, after they’d buried Coulson and grieved, the moles were out and real and _how did that happen?_

She was just glad Rogers hadn’t been there to witness the madness that was Hydra Reborn, having being sent away on a mission.

Her stomach dropped. A mission for SHIELD.

“Shit.” Clint cursed from the passenger’s seat and Natasha turned fleetingly to him. He was nursing one of his hearing aids. “Busted.” He complained.

Natasha sighed in relief. “You had me worried for a second, there.”

“Awww, really, Nat?” He sing-songed back, but then frowned. “Sucks, though. I even liked some of the fuckers.”

She made an intelligible sound in the back of her throat. “We need to get to Steve.”

He nodded quickly, already checking his phone intently. “Hill’s already on it. Looks like the cell he’s been sent with is trustworthy.”

“Small mercies.” The knot in her belly had loosened a bit. Hydra had been woefully unprepared to them cottoning on their plan early, or else they would all have been flanked by plants ready to take them down. Or die trying.

She fought the urge to snicker. All of this shit because an intern had decided she wanted to play arson on her boss’s research. The irony.

“Shit,” Clint complained again. “Pierce was in it from the beginning and blew himself up. The Triskelion is down. Sitwell is dead. This is going to be the _end_ of SHIELD. What the hell, Nat. _What the hell._ ”

“We’ll rebuild.” She said resolutely. “Regimes fall every day.”

His lips twitched. “You would know.” He groaned faintly, readjusting his left arm. “So, Hill and Fury are heading to the TAHITI facility, wherever that is, and we’re supposed to ‘lay low’. Where are we even going to hide? My safe houses and covers will be gone by now.”

“...Same.” She grumbled. She probably had one or two in Russia, but there was no way she was getting there without support.

“You know…” He started pensively. “There is somewhere we could go...”

Her foot slammed on the brakes. She faced him fully and spelled very clearly. “No.”

“Oh come on, Nat! He’s not that bad. Eccentric, but come on.”

“No, Clint.”

“Okay.” He stared stubbornly. “Do you have another plan?”

She stared at him mutinously,  but he took her phone and dialled the number anyway.

“...Romanoff? What a nice surprise! I was just talking to Bruce here-”

_Kill me. Kill me now. I’m going back to face Hydra._

* * *

 

Stark had been extremely gracious and generous with them.

Natasha had a floor all to herself, right above Banner’s and close to Clint. They were more rooms that she could ever hope to fill out, and if she ever went back to her spy job (which some days she felt was the only thing she didn’t really fail at), the actual chances of this ever happening were even slimmer.

So she tried not to get attached, and her duffel bag stayed firmly by the door.

Clint had the same bag in his room.

She tried not to think about sedentary life. Much.

Speaking about Stark, “did you find Rogers, Stark?”

Tony Stark jumped and the coffee into the mug he was using sloshed dangerously. “Romanoff!” He exclaimed, “don’t startle the poor- Ihh!” Clint had chosen that moment to drop from the vents, steal the carafe and drink coffee directly from it.

Natasha wrinkled her nose. She was getting tea today.  
“Okay, seriously?! Should we attach a bell to both of you- No don’t finish it, Birdbrain. JARVIS, I feel like we should put bells on all of our guests.”  
“Duly noted, Sir.”

“But! Going back to your question, Romanoff,” he continued, when he noticed no one else was going to follow up with his monologue, “I did. And Thor’s ‘sweet Ladylove’, too. She and her posse are coming next week.” He sounded pleased with their surprised faces. “We managed to get her and the intern before Shieldra got to them. Supposedly, some are extremely pissed at them. Don’t really get why all the hate for the astrophysicist of course-”

Clint was now openly snickering. “Oh no, no, that’s not it, Stark.” Natasha felt the urge to smack him. There was no need to let him know. “They have it for the intern, not Foster.”

Stark gaped openly at him, his mug forgotten. A tiny robot vacuum breezed past them, trying and failing spectacularly at picking it up. “The intern?”

“Oh yeah,” Clint nodded, “Darcy Lewis. She was responsible for collating all the data for the bridge, right? But Foster went ‘keep it safe’, so she went and destroyed the whole thing!”

If she thought that watching Stark on the brink of death of Palladium poisoning would have been the apex of amused horror, well, it wasn’t it. _This was it._ The open, indignant movement of the mouth like a fish, the sliver of foam and the bulging eyes at the idea of someone putting their paws on his babies and then annihilate them because of pure idiocy.

“...She’s not getting anywhere close to the labs. Foster is firing her, or we’re moving Foster. Yes. Yes, we’re doing that. JARVIS, give a floor to Foster and the intern, somewhere they won’t be able to reach my lab. Or Bruce’s.”

“Yes, sir.” The AI answered promptly. “Should I warn Miss Potts?”

“...Yes, yes. Do that. I can’t believe someone would do that.” He whined.

“Well,” Natasha interjected carefully, side-eyeing Clint to gauge his reaction, “Coulson said it was probably a front and that they somehow managed to retain all of their files somewhere they couldn’t reach.”  
That stopped Stark short, and he was suddenly very intrigued.

“I don’t know if it’s true.” She said carefully, but Clint was nodding thoughtfully beside her, “but the facts speak for themselves. That girl single-handedly exposed Hydra.”  

* * *

 

“I did what?”

Darcy’s mind was reeling and regrouping, and yet still drawing blanks.

“You have won the Lottery, of course!”

Tony Stark was in front of her (and Jane) and was talking nonsense.  
Darcy checked her clock. It was three in the morning, they had just gotten down a plane from the middle of Nowhere. She had no time for this. She was going back to bed.

A dying sound of agony almost made it to her throat, but she stamped it down and just frowned in irritation.

“I just met you, but I’m already tired from the travel and I need to put the bosslady to sleep,” Jane was literally crumbling on the ground after having refused to sleep anytime in the last 48 hours. “I’d hate to classify you as ‘annoying’ because of that, Mr Stark.”

Tony Stark sputtered, then sized her up, grinned, and ignored the complaint. He marched towards his penthouse without looking back.

Darcy sighed, then put her hands on Jane’s shoulders and gently steered her towards the inside. Jane followed, clicking her tongue. The intern giggled.

“So,” Stark had literally prattled for over ten minutes, but Darcy had no recollection of it whatsoever. “We wanted to put you close to the labs, but then I heard that someone is a pyro and yeah, no. You’re not going anywhere close to my labs.” _As if._ He pointed a long finger in front of her face rudely and she almost went cross-eyed to follow it. “So! I just placed you under Romanoff. So there will be no temptation of sorts. You just take the elevator and reach your floor, it’s ready of course-”

Jane chose that moment to come back to the land of the awake with renewed energy. She made a sharp  ‘rude’  sign at him that Darcy had to abort midway and started questioning him on the status of her precious equipment.

“-And I simply must-!”

Well. “Do you need me, boss lady?” She called hopefully, her mind already set on finding whatever soft surface she could find and sleep for at least 50 hours.

“Wha- No, no Darcy, of course not.” She waved her hand at her. “Sleep well.”

“Night-o!” And without looking back stepped into the elevator, leaving the mad scientists to their pack, or brood, or pride, whatever they called it.

As soon as the doors closed, she allowed herself to lean against the wall and close her eyes. She shook herself two, three times and then yawned into the solitude of the enclosed space.

...Only, she wasn’t the only one inside.

Green eyes looked at her curiously and her brain, who had carried her all over and got her in Stark Tower, in a free suite paid by Stark himself, packed its bags and decided to shut off.

It probably restarted sometime after four years or so, and Darcy was aware she was ogling, but yeeeeah.

Stunning didn’t really cover it, did it?

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, maybe it was something funny she’d eaten, or maybe it was simply her lack of filter (if there was a thing Volano speakers was, it wasn’t ‘subtle’. Why hide it when you can insult your enemy to their face?)... She would never know.

“A red butterfly” She whispered reverently, and then three things happened at the same time.

The elevator dinged, the woman guffawed loudly and her brain kicked back in.

She blushed as red as the woman’s hair.

And then finally managed to put two and two together.

“You’re Natasha Romanoff.” Natasha Romanoff’s perfectly plucked eyebrows raised delicately. “Natasha Romanoff is in my same elevator.”

“Now you have me at a disadvantage” the Black Widow smiled politely, and Darcy ignored the sudden jelly legs.

“Oh, please.” She scoffed. “As if you didn’t know everything going on.”

“...That’s true,” she acquiesced, amused. “Still, it’s surprising for someone to recognize me so promptly.” Was it her imagination or did her tone have a tiny hint of steel? Maybe?

“Oh. I’ve just been following the Triskelion coverage.”

It was probably the wrong thing to say, because the woman was definitely frowning now. “Coverage?”

“Uh.. yeah…” She fumbled with her phone and handed it to her, “Here. I had to put an actual alert on my name because it was popping all over. Dunno who did that, but someone dumped a whole ton of data all over the net, about SHIELD and all. Of course, two days later Stark swooped in and just… cleaned it all up. At least, the data about the ‘good guys’. I suppose that if there’s someone who _can actually pull it off_ , that’s him.”

“Mh.” The Black Widow was leaning closer. _Oh God, legs don’t fail me now._

The elevator dinged again, more insistently.

“Miss Romanoff, do you intend to get off?” A voice was heard from the ceiling.

“Oh- I- What?” Darcy asked, confused.

Natasha smiled. “That was my stop, five minutes ago. The voice is JARVIS, he runs the house.”

Aww crap. Come on.  
“I… Yeah, I should let you go, uhm, thanks, yeah.”

“Nice to meet you, Darcy Lewis” she called lightly as she left.

_Okay, no. Yes. Yes, nice to meet you too… Aw man._

* * *

 

It took Darcy two days to convince herself that no, unfortunately, she _had_ called the Black Widow ‘red butterfly’ to her face (which, apart from being extremely sappy, was stupid ironic as well…), but they hadn’t met again, so by the third day she had managed to convince herself that the beautiful redhead would probably forget all about it. Her brain tried to tell her ‘no’ twice already and she’d gleefully ignored it.

By the fifth day, Darcy could pretend _she_ had forgotten about it.

To live with Jane Foster, she had kept to a strict daytime schedule in order to manage to fix everything by a reasonable time, to copy the data, to actually burn the evidence (and pants. Somehow Erik’s pants ended up in the ‘to burn’ pile all the time) and possible shepherd the science dudes back to bed.  
So, it was no surprise that at seven o'clock sharp the common kitchen was blissfully, completely, deserted.

Jarvis, the absolute darling, had helped her with directions and the groceries and now the pan was pleasantly sizzling with bacon rashers.

Jane had perched herself on a stool by the table and was signing determinedly at her about the news she was receiving on the phone. It was the most efficient (and tested) way of communicating swiftly whenever Erik had a ‘we need to talk, Jane’ moment and she couldn’t stop responding to him.

“No, Erik, this is truly impossible, we checked-”  We lost an anomaly in Sweden last week she signed sharply, turning her wide eyes to her.

We’re not going to Sweden, boss lady. For good measure, she clicked her tongue at least ten times.

Fine. Jane pouted, “no, Erik, we- Of course, I know, look-” and by then Jane was truly engrossed in the conversation and was no longer trying to keep Darcy updated. Well, as long as it was clear they _were not_ moving again.

It took another ten minutes before Erik let Jane go and they could finally eat something.

By then, the Tower had started waking up.

First came Virginia ‘call me Pepper’, who hastily took coffee and a dainty bite of a granola bar and was out of the kitchen before she could acknowledge _anyone._

Then came one of the agents that had been on their ‘observing for your safety’ detail back in Puente Antiguo.

“Agent Arms!” Darcy exclaimed. He didn’t even turn towards them. _Rude._

Not that she would tell him, though, because right after him strolled Natasha, looking as flawless as she remembered her. So Darcy and Jane shared a look, and tried to make themselves as invisible as possible.

They had probably noticed them alright, super spies and all that, but yeah.

What followed was a signed conversation in what could possibly be ASL (but Darcy’s actual familiarity with the language was almost zero, so she couldn’t say.), but the situation was becoming increasingly awkward for two women who had used VSL for most of their exchanges lately.

And so, when Agent Arms made a signed gesture that was probably totally okay in ASL, but in VSL meant something more along ‘screwing a fish biblically with a nut’, she couldn’t keep it anymore.

And she laughed. And laughed again, Jane giggling so hard she fell from the stool.

Unfortunately, when they were finally able to stop, they had become the unwilling centre of attention.

Natasha was watching them with keen eyes, while Clint’s were narrowed and suspicious, as if he was having a very big epiphany.

“What’s so funny you fell off your stool, Dr Foster, I wonder.” Voiced airily the Black Widow.

Jane giggled again, dragging Darcy into it for a few seconds. “It’s... it’s nothing. I’m so sorry.” Janey answered, apologetically. “I just confused the signs. I have no experience with… I’m assuming it’s ASL-”

“Speak slower, please.” Said the man, and it was the first time they’d heard him speak at all.

Darcy’s eyes zeroed on the suspicious looking apparel by his left ear. _Oh._ “Oh? Oh. Sure.” Bosslady recovered. “I said, that I thought you were signing something else. I’m very sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

The intern bobbed her head quickly in assent.

Natasha had a most peculiar look on her face, but graciously accepted the explanation and started preparing her own breakfast. She eyed speculatively the pan full of bacon.

“You can take some.” Offered Darcy quietly, “I’m going to make a lot more anyway, since it’s early and people are just starting to come in.”

“...Thank you.” She smiled, and Darcy felt at least two brain cells explode, somewhere where her higher brain functions were supposed to hold on and stay strong. _Traitors._

From the table, she side eyed Jane making a very short  Awww!  Gesture. _Great. Just great._

“I FUCKING KNEW IT!” Squawked Agent Arms.

Natasha turned towards him and signed while she spoke, “your inside voice, Clint. How did you even forget it?”

“NO NO NAT, you don’t understand. THEY HAD A SECRET SIGNED LANGUAGE ALL THIS TIME AND WE DIDN’T NOTICE. HOW THE FUCK DIDN’T WE NOTICE YOU WERE SPEAKING IN CODE!”

“...Technically…” Darcy raised her hand hesitantly so that ‘Clint’ could see her speak. “This is not a code. It’s a recognized language… We have a written, spoken and signed counterpart.”

Clint gaped. “The personal diary Agent Grafter left because, and I quote, ‘it was written in Elvish or something’, _that was it?!”_

Natasha’s eyes were a bit wide too, but then she smirked. “So it _is_ true. That was one smart trick, Darcy Lewis. You almost single-handedly destroyed Hydra.”

“...What?”

* * *

 

Living with ‘Earth's Mightiest Heroes’ put a damper on the starstruck face extremely fast.

Tony hadn’t really given her a good impression the first time they met, but Darcy was quickly forced to reevaluate, because under the snark there was actually a good man with impossible problems.

That… was an accurate description of pretty much all of them.

Eventually, she found herself in the singular position of being part of a dysfunctional family that somehow worked but not quite, and whose field teamwork depended solely on the hope that close proximity wouldn’t blow it up.

It came to no one’s surprise then when Steve offered ‘team bonding exercises’ that no one really appreciated but everyone went to anyways.

Darcy herself wasn’t invited of course, but she and Jane were instead invited to what came after, id est the movie night where everyone wanted to pick a different genre.

Tony was partial to romance, Steve preferred Drama, Bruce said nothing at all but didn’t like Horror, Clint wanted Musicals and Natasha was a closeted aficionado of indie movies.

And it wouldn’t have been a problem, weren’t for the fact that they weren’t able to make it through an action movie without Clint, Natasha and Steve picking at the details, Sci-fi or Fantasy was out of the question because the science bros were all over the place when Science! was involved _and_ Historical drama was a landmine just waiting to blow up for _everyone_.

So, with Thor bro out of planet as peacemaker, the only thing that Darcy could enjoy in peace was usually Disney movies or cartoons… Which were fine of course, but she started to itch for something different. For a change anyways.

But she loved spending time with her band of dorks, and so she steeled herself for another rendition of The Black Cauldron that she was sure they’d watched thrice in the last four weeks.

She took the popcorn bowl from the kitchen and strolled into the living space, where the movie was already projecting on the screen.

Everyone was already settling down, with Steve on the floor and Jane already asleep on the fluffy armchair instead of the usual couch,  so she passed Clint the popcorn and expertly manoeuvred around them to miraculously grab the empty loveseat and basically coil all over it. Win.

The movie was halfway when Bruce poked his head into the room and joined Tony on the couch, and even later when Natasha came in, launching a wig on the floor (a bot would probably run away with it if they didn’t check frequently) and looking more tired than a super juiced usually red carpet ready woman should. She didn’t even glance at the couch, instead plopped right next to Darcy, ready to curl on the free cushion space and maybe, possibly, sleep.

Darcy had no compunction at admitting she had watched the Russian woman on more than one occasion, in any kind of situation between ‘just awake’ and ‘Tony’s bots just swamped the labs and oh my God we’re going to die’ but she’d never looked so… tired. Ever.

But before she could actually ask, Natasha’s eyes bore into her and she smiled reassuringly, if a bit strained. She turned towards the movie right after and made herself more comfortable.

 _Okay, not touching this…_ Darcy pursed her lips, ready to confront the situation because excuse you, she was a shepherd dog for scientists and she was not going to back down on tired spies, too, but then Natasha twisted and tossed around until their feet were almost touching and then her eyes closed and she was out like a light.

 _Was… was she okay?_ She looked around, alarmed, and caught a soft bundle launched at her just in time. It was a patchwork quilt.

Clint was looking at her. “She does that all the time, don’t worry. Just cover her and she’ll be fine in a couple.”

She gently draped the patchwork over the sleeping woman and turned back to the other spy.  He shrugged, but his eyes didn’t really leave his partner for the rest of the night (neither did hers).

* * *

 

Natasha came to exactly like she was used to. Her brain would be completely awake in three seconds, her entire body three seconds later, and she effortlessly went from asleep to awake without no one else noticing.  
The comfort of the cushion was expected as well, she did vaguely remember dropping ungracefully on the loveseat the night before. She also could understand the quilt she was covered with.

Despite telling Clint all the time that she didn’t get cold, for she was Russian and even if she weren’t, she didn’t feel the cold anyway, he always insisted she cover herself while sleeping. She smiled faintly, still under the covers.

She kept her breathing steady and regular and carefully listened to the sounds of the Tower.

There was someone in the kitchen and the smell of pancakes.

 _Must be over 7 am if Darcy’s awake._ Her eyes widened; she had slept over ten hours. She hadn’t expected to be that tired from cleaning up one of the last ‘favours’ she owed Fury.

And then the sound of a choking pterodactyl made her reach for the knife holster at her thigh.

She uncurled from under the patchwork and silently crawled behind the sofa. The sounds came from the kitchen, _where Darcy the untrained intern was. Shit._

She palmed the knife and slithered towards the door.  
More clacking and clicking sounds came from the kitchen, and then a second set of rasping sounds coming from… a phone? And then, came a deep, satisfied... belly laugh?

_What._

The kitchen door was open, so Natasha very carefully looked inside.

Darcy was mixing an ungodly amount of batter, while producing sounds from the back of her throat that couldn’t possibly be healthy or human, her tongue twisting against her incisors as the sounds were chopped through her trachea and voicebox. From her new Stark-approved phone came the apparently responding sounds of the conversation.

Had Natasha been a lesser woman, or lesser certain of her abilities, she’d think she was drunk or dreaming. But ten hours were already too many hours of sleep, and ‘drunk’ was not a stage she could reach anymore since the Serum.

In that moment Darcy noticed her, smiled radiantly and clicked her tongue rapidly. It was a singular experience, watching the cute brunette with glasses imitate the sounds of a dying extinct bird-reptile.

Natasha couldn’t quite decide if it was fascinating or morbid, in a fashion.

She had never felt so inadequate in front of a possible 084 since her first days as a freelance killer.

“Hey, Laura, sorry, people are awake now, need to leave you. Thank you so much for calling, you’re a gem. Your recipes are a hit. Talk to you soon and have a splendid evening!”

“Oh, of course, darling. Have a nice day. Ta ta!” Came from the phone. It was clearly an elderly woman with a… British? accent. Darcy ended the call immediately afterwards.

“Good morning!” She said, as if she hadn’t just been classed as ‘highly dangerous’ in a trained spy’s mind.

Natasha frowned and Darcy’s smile faltered a bit. “Is there something wrong, Natasha?”

“Who was she?” The spy nodded to the phone.

“Oh!” Darcy smiled fondly. “That’s Laura. Laura Polney, by the way. She lives in London and she’s like, a fountain of knowledge when it comes to food. Half of the recipes I have are hers, actually. I mean, I didn’t actually start cooking until I came here, right? Because what can you do when you’re living off grants and PopTarts but-”

“I’m not interested in that.” Natasha cut her off. “You just demonstrated a vocal prowess that is not normal, I hope you’re aware.” The spy was already berating herself. All of the background checks SHIELD had done, and they had missed a very obvious thing with Darcy Lewis, Poli-sci intern.

“Well, yes?” _What._ Darcy frowned. “I mean, it’s kind of the point of Volano, right? That fact that there are only about 300 Speakers alive?”

Natasha’s face must have given away more than it should, because her eyes widened and her expression cleared. “I thought everyone knew already! I haven’t been exactly subtle, and with JARVIS listening in on everything and me using a Starkphone that I’m guessing Stark is actively tracing… I mean how hard can it be to find out what language I’m speaking? I bet JARVIS has a ton in his database.”

“I must dissent, Miss Lewis.” Said the AI politely, once called upon. “In fact, prior to this discussion, no mentions of the language you refer to as ‘Volano’ were ever made in my presence, or at all. And no reference is found in the media.”

The intern grimaced. “Yeah well, don’t be surprised about that. 300 people most of which are over 60 make it a very easy language to ignore when creating keyboards, right? And we can’t use anything but ink to seal in or ‘the magick will be lost!!’” She air quoted the last part.

And there it was. The unexpected relief. “So it’s a language.” Natasha interrupted again. Her body was slowly relaxing and warming up to the idea of misunderstood, non-plant Darcy. “The same language you use with Foster. She doesn’t speak it.” She added later.

“Oh yeah.” Darcy’s eyes sparkled. “Hard as fuck if you don’t learn it while young, and impossible to reproduce without being almost born into it. Without destroying your cords, of course.”

Natasha couldn’t help but notice the downward tilting of the woman’s mouth, as if the idea of an unbreakable code saddened her. And then, of course, she realized that the tiny light in the young woman’s eyes was in a way similar to the one she saw in Steve’s eyes, in Clint’s, Tony’s, and, if she looked in a mirror, her own.

It was the light of someone feeling lonely and trying desperately to fit in, despite missing everything that had marked their life until now.

She could relate.

She nodded slightly and smiled. Darcy returned her smile warmly.

“Pancakes? My favourite.”

Darcy latched on the change of topic immediately. “Yep. Do you want to help? There’s a ton of batter left, but you all eat like a whole herd of horses!”

* * *

 

Before anyone knew it, December had started and snow was falling merrily over New York.

Tony, who had tried to leave for his Malibu house to sneak away to do… who knew what, frankly (possibly another Suit that Pepper Had To Know Nothing About Shortstack Don’t You Dare!!!), had been successfully stopped by Bruce, and was now grumpily complaining every single day about how this year the holidays were going to be miserable, what with the ugly mugs staying in his tower.

The first time he’d said this, Darcy had laughed loud into his face and called bullshit. He didn’t correct her.

It was expected to be another cold winter, and it was probably the fact that they were smack in the middle of the huge metropolis that stopped them from being snowed in by now.

Darcy had noticed that the closer they were actually getting to Christmas, the more the Avengers’ behaviour was changing.

Steve and Bruce had adopted a more ‘the good old times’ wistful attitude, with some good memories drowned into the fact that it was long gone.

People like Tony claimed had no good memory of the holidays, but still, Darcy could see how he spent more time with his bots or talking to JARVIS.

Jane was actually leaving her machines to spend time with her mother, who had come all the way from London, and the rest of her family in Maine. She had even left most of her equipment at the Tower and packed the rest by herself.

Clint did have some good memories from the Circus, but that was about it. He was, however, the dorkiest of them all, and had helped Darcy to decorate so enthusiastically the common room looked like an Elf Shop Expo.

Who she did see _less of_ was Natasha.

After the spy had found her in the kitchen that day, she’d been much more present in Darcy’s life. She woke up earlier to help her with cooking breakfast, she’d stop by the labs during the day to chat with her lightly whenever Jane was too busy to even click ‘no’ at her, she’d ditch Clint, sometimes, to curl up with her during movie nights.

So, while Darcy wouldn’t say she missed seeing so much of her a lot (she did), she could at least admit to being a bit thrown by the sudden change of behaviour.

Of course, she wasn’t going to address the issue with her. She and Nat were friends now, but she was already trying to ignore how her legs became jelly and how her fan-crush had totally evolved into a crush-crush of epic proportions and she really didn’t need another ego bruise like their first meeting (which everyone was politely going to ignore _forever_ ).

So she did what every child learns to do when they really like someone else: go to the best friend.

She casually cornered Clint as he exited the range (that she _hadn’t_ been staking for hours).

“No.” He said immediately, even before she opened her mouth.

“Wha-”  
“No.” He repeated. “It wasn’t me, I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m not going to help you with Tony, I’m not selling myself for cookies unless they’re chocolate chip with more chocolate than actual chip. Does that answer any of your questions?” He smiled hopefully.

“...No?” She frowned. “I just wanted to know if you knew where Natasha’s disappearing off to. She’s barely in the Tower.”

“Oh!” He cheered up. Something behind his back made some kind of falling noise. “Then my second answer was fine! I don’t know, sorry.”

Her face fell. “Oh, okay, I hoped you would know more, super spy and all…”

“Sorry Darce,” he meant it, or he was a very good actor, “Nat’s disappearing acts are something you should get used to. She doesn’t work for SHIELD anymore yes, but Fury still calls on her sometimes to clean up something or, well-”

“...Someone?” She finished for him.

“Yeah…” He said, uncomfortable with the subject. “Not recently, yeah? I think the last time I saw her leave for a clean up was months ago, but yeah. Also, could be the Christmas feels.” The object behind him protruded over his shoulder. It was a prototype quiver.

“The Christmas feels?” She parroted, baffled.

“Uh-uh.” Clint nodded, and then added thoughtfully. “She’s always poofed right before Christmas, usually missions or something. In over fifteen years that I know her, we’ve never spent the hols together. Not that I didn’t ask, but she always happened to be abroad.” The quiver he was trying to sneak from the range dropped to the ground. “Uh. Well, Darcy, as nice as this chat has been…”

He hauled the quiver on his shoulder, knocked open a ventilation bolthole in the wall, and slipped out of the corridor.

Darcy didn’t even have time to say ‘bye’.

* * *

 

It took the young woman a full day to understand what was happening, and then, of course, she felt like slapping herself because duh.

Of course, Natasha wouldn’t want to stick around for the holidays. Darcy could just imagine the kind of Christmas Nat had celebrated when she was young. Red Room was famous for their kindness and Christmasy feels, and holidays à la Red Room were the best… yeah no.

However, before Red Room and before everything, Natasha had a life and family and loved ones. Russia 1930 was not kind to religion, but people used to celebrate in secret all the time, so she must have some good memories of that, right, right?

She didn’t know what to do, but making Nat spend another Christmas cold and alone was not an option.

And then the problems started.

A superficial research showed that Russia didn’t even celebrate Christmas _on the same day_ as the rest of the world.  
Then, they had a very specific celebration ritual for Novi God, which was New Year’s Eve and a prelude for Christmas _and_ admitted only so much leeway.

In just a few hours the table she’d been working on had become littered with papers and useless information, her notes in Volano smearing the pages printed from Wikipedia.

She was just about to give up, because of course it couldn’t be that simple and yeah, maybe it was even presumptuous of her to expect Nat to participate in such a half-assed thing, to begin with, when said Russian spy leaned over her shoulder from the headboard of the couch she was sitting in.

“Is everything alright, Darcy?”

She did not squeal. She absolutely did not squeal or shout or almost break any glass by cursing up a storm in Volano. She didn’t.

“What are you doing?” Natasha asked, her eyes roaming all over the papers she’d been checking feverishly and probably cataloguing whatever was in them.

“A mess,” Darcy grumbled. She hadn’t planned on getting caught, but Nat had always been the sneakiest of them all.

Said spy chuckled and fingered one of the papers. “Mh. Christmas in Russia, uh?”

“Yeah.” Darcy said lamely, “I thought I’d try something original for you, since I’m already cooking and all.”

“Ah, Darcy.” Was it possible for Natasha to seem uncomfortable? “I probably won’t be here, Fury needs me to check on something while some cells they’re watching are dormant. I probably won’t be home until at least January.”

“Oh.” Yeah, that was disappointing. Expected. But disappointing, even if a small part of her caught the fact that Nat had referred to the Tower as ‘home’.

“Sorry.” Winced Natasha. “I’ll make it up to you, yeah?” She reached out and squeezed her hand.

Darcy smiled a bit. “Sure. Promise?”

“Promise.”

* * *

 

Natasha walked down the labs with purpose.

At the beginning of her permanence at the Tower, she’d only come down in case Banner needed her or Tony had to test something for Clint or for her.

Lately, she’d come down more than usual in order to see more of Darcy. The girl was almost always at her boss’s heels during the day, and the spy had learnt to capitalize on that.

Today, however, Darcy was upstairs poking at _Russian Christmas notes_ with a forlorn expression and, never let Tony hear it, she didn’t like the fact that she was the one who’d made her sad.

She never wanted Darcy to be sad in the first place.

This didn’t mean she was ready to ‘celebrate’ whatever this was with her new makeshift family. Not now.

She’d known Clint for years and yet they’d never spent the holidays together. It probably went against some kind of code or something to spend it with someone else first, she wasn’t an expert.

There was something else she was curious about, though. She palmed absently the sheet of paper she’d taken from Darcy’s notes.

Then she remembered her ‘mission’ was outside the Tower.

She sighed and pulled out her Starkphone.

* * *

 

It took three tries for Natasha to find the astrophysicist.

Jane Foster was a petite woman and she often disappeared under the amount of apparel that was strewn all over the working desk.

Today, however, when she picked up the video conference, she was working furiously on a piece of paper on a kitchen counter. She didn’t seem to realize she’d picked up.

“Dr Foster?” She started politely.  

Jane Foster startled and looked up. “Oh, Natasha. Hello, can I do anything for you? Darcy’s not here.” She added. Then blushed when she noticed what she’d said.

“I was looking for you, actually.”

She carefully unfolded the paper and held it in front of the screen.

Dr Foster laughed a bit. “Ah, Darcy’s master plan.” Her eyes widened. “You didn’t hear it from me, I didn’t tell you.”

“Of course not.” Jane Foster smiled toothily at her. Natasha carried on. “I was wondering whether you could read this for me?” And she pointed at the flowery, round scripts in ink.

Jane Foster frowned. “Uh, that’s Volano.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I can’t read that. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t. I barely got the hang of signing and writing is sooo much harder.” Her hands went through her hair. “Sorry, I think Darcy’s the only one who can read that.”

Natasha sighed. She had hoped that, with the data on the Rainbow Bridge being exclusively copied in that language, Dr Foster had learnt it out of necessity.

Apparently, with Darcy close, she didn’t really have to. Understandable.

“Sorry.” Dr Foster said again. “I’m just so used to sign at her that I never bothered to learn much of the rest. I mean, not that I could learn to speak it with all the damage one would procure to their vocal cords, but now I feel like I should have tried harder for the written portion of this.” She laughed nervously. “So glad Laura can’t hear me now.” She mumbled.

Natasha’s eyes zeroed on the petite woman straight away. “Laura the friend from London?”

“Oh yeah.” Jane Foster shuddered. “Wonderful woman, but a stickler for her heritage. Met her once on a Skype call, never again. She kept nitpicking at my signing and berating me in Volano, which of course I didn’t understand. I had Darcy translate it later, but it was a pain. Her cookies are great, though, you should try them!” Jane nodded, and then something distracted her from outside the room. “Listen, Natasha, wish I could stay more and chat but…”

“Of course. Thank you for your time, Dr Foster.”

Jane Foster frowned. “Jane’s fine. We’ve watched Finding Nemo together, this gives us first name basis, right?”

“Sure thing… Jane.”  
Jane grinned. “Great. See you!”

Natasha stared thoughtfully at the Starkphone in her hands.

Suddenly a new goal was in front of her.

* * *

 

_Hey, Merry Christmas котенок_

The text wasn’t signed, but Darcy knew only one person who spoke Russian apart from Clint, and considering he was mock fighting with U with paper rolls, it wasn’t him.

Her heart warmed and she smiled without trying.

_Merry Christmas, Nat. Stay safe. xxx_

Later that evening she’d worry about the kisses she’d left at the end of the message, but then she would shrug, because that was okay.

* * *

  
Darcy yawned sleepily.

She held the package she’d prepared for New Year’s Eve, just in case, a bit tighter to her chest as the lights of Avengers Tower went down to allow for the residents to watch unimpeded the fireworks that would set off in fifteen minutes or so.

Nat had told her she wouldn’t be back until January, and yet a part of her had stupidly hoped.

She berated herself.

She wasn’t being fair.

Nat was out saving the world from the shadows. Even Clint had to leave sometimes, only their skills were different, and Nat’s much more valuable.

Her phone beeped. It was… Laura?

“Hello?”

A clacking noise resonated. “Ah sorry, Laura, but there are people here.”

“Oh. I see.” Laura answered brightly anyway. Never let it be said that they were rude to people who didn’t understand their language.

The music in the penthouse increased until all sounds were almost drowned.

“...New Year.. ! -ppy! Su…-se!” Darcy was going to tear Tony a new one for this.

“What?” She moved quickly towards the windows, hoping to find a place where the music wasn’t quite so loud. “Sorry, Laura, I can’t hear you very well?”

She heard a click of annoyance from the other side of the line, and then Laura hung up.

A second later, a text showed on her screen, wishing her a happy new year and some other cheesy one-liners the Englishwoman was used to say.

The irritation at Tony for the music forgotten, she made her way back to the room, where everyone was filling their glasses for the New Year’s toast.

At the five minutes mark from Midnight, the doors opened and suddenly Natasha was there with them in the darkened room.

And yeah, it was probably the dark, and the cheery atmosphere and it didn’t escape Darcy that their important meetings were always in unexpected places and with awkward audience, but Natasha smiled and Darcy almost leapt to her feet to reach her side.

She smiled breathlessly and held the package up for the older woman. “с новым годом.” She exclaimed. She hoped she hadn’t butchered the accents too much, Lord knew she had practised entirely too much for three words.

But Natasha’s eyes were sparkling as she opened the present.

And then, she put her hands in front of her slowly, moved the left one in a circular motion in front of her, moved the other over her heart and then smiled. I like you very much.

Darcy’s jaw dropped.

“...Where did you learn that?!”

“Oh, here and there.” Natasha grinned. “Spent some time in London…”

“You _sneak._ ” Darcy breathed in wonder, and then repeated the gesture. Twice.

“Guys, guys!” Clint exclaimed. “Twenty seconds! Oh, hey, Nat!”

And when everyone counted back to zero, Natasha and Darcy just looked at each other.

The fireworks bloomed all over New York, and everything was perfect.

* * *

 

“Darcy, wake up.”

...No? She was warm and comfortable, she was sleeping and the room was dark, the sounds drowned by the insulated walls. She wasn’t getting up.

“Darcyyy”

“...No.” She mumbled.

Musical laughter followed her very brave proclamation, and the arms around her from behind tightened.

She burrowed deeper into the embrace and snuggled closer, intertwining her legs to Natasha’s.

“Darcy, wake up.” This was a bit more forceful.

Darcy opened one eye blearily and looked at Natasha’s smiling face over her shoulder. “What time is it?”

“It’s after 9 o’clock already.”  
Her jaw dropped. “Natasha, love of my life, my only dearest, I love you like the air I breathe,” Natasha preened, “ _but,_ we went to bed four hours ago because of Tony’s stupid New Year party. We’ve been together for two years, may have faced the end of the World, and yesterday was _our anniversary.”_ She squeezed her hands over Natasha’s meaningfully, their naked bodies pressing together under the covers. “There is _no possible way_ I’m getting up right now. No. Way.”

Natasha chuckled and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Pleeease?”

Ugh. Darcy whined. “No.”

Natasha sighed, still amused. “Fine.”

 _Great. Wonderful._ Darcy’s eyes closed again, pleased.  
Just as she was about to reenter slumberland, however, Natasha produced a long, drawn-out sound from the back of her throat, followed by a chopped whistle.

Darcy’s eyes snapped open and, sleep forgotten, she turned rapidly into Natasha’s embrace to look at her face.

Her girlfriend was smiling smugly at her.

“How did you do that?” The pronunciation was terrible and it was clear she was a beginner, but the language was unmistakable.

“Superserum comes with advantages, looks like.” Natasha shrugged a bit, as much as their position allowed to. “Can’t destroy a voice box that self-repairs now, can we?”

Her smile widened and she tried again, her sounds longer.

Darcy grimaced involuntarily. “Oh dear. Okay, it’s... You’ll have to work on that because the accent is atrocious. Also, I think you’re using the wrong words. See, you just asked me to marry- Oh.” Her eyes widened at the innocent blinking of her girlfriend, who had tensed a bit. “ _Oh!! OH!_ I’m sorry.”

She made herself comfortable in Natasha’s arms and batted her eyelashes. “Do continue.”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Oh my Gosh, it's over.  
> It took me 5 days to finish it properly, and it's a big baby we've got there. Oh wow.  
> Thank you so so much for reading it.
> 
>  **Notes on the language**  
>  Volano is an original language invented by me. It stresses the vocal cords of the user to try and emulate bird speech.  
> The inventor of Volano was believed to be a quack because the language didn't seem to control birds (it actually worked, it's just that birds don't care).  
> I made use of the capability of Humans to adapt to situations and their aggressive need for socialization to justify the fact that a human baby would start to vocalize that way.  
> Of course, a human socialized with 'normal' languages would find it impossible to stretch the cords that way. Like ballerinas need to grow into their joints, so do Volano speakers.  
> This does indeed not apply to Natasha and Steve, because the Superserum would just heal that kind of damage right away.
> 
>  **Notes on the Russian**  
>  The Russian is mine, there's like, two lines, but in case  
> Kotenok is kitten  
> C Novym Godom is I wish you a happy new year (literally "to the new year")  
> If you see mistakes on the Russian let me know, I'm so rusty.
> 
> There's probably more I wanted to add but for now, I'm spent, so yeah :p
> 
> I hope you liked it, **please leave a comment and make my day?**  
>  Stay awesome, and thank you so much for reading this!


End file.
